


Let the Music Take Control

by Eyes_of_a_Tragedy



Series: Dean's Drawers [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Fingering, Dean doesn't have to use his damn words, Dean in Panties, Don't Like Don't Read, Fluff and Smut, Incest, Light Angst, M/M, Mild D/S undertones, Not Beta Read, One Shot, Rimming, Safe Sane and Consensual, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-03
Updated: 2017-12-03
Packaged: 2019-02-09 19:52:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12895515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eyes_of_a_Tragedy/pseuds/Eyes_of_a_Tragedy
Summary: Sam's been dealing with Dean's inability to express his feelings for as long as he can remember. Now that their relationship is more than fraternal, Dean's ability to use words as a means of conveying emotion is pretty much nil. However, words aren't always necessary, and Dean has always been able to find ways around his issues.





	Let the Music Take Control

**Author's Note:**

> I’m supposed to be working on my other fic. I had every intention of doing that today. I went to sleep last night with the thought that I was never, ever, ever going to put myself out there with fanfic again after the teeth-pulling that has been Stay. And then I woke up at ass-o’clock this morning with Sam and Dean waving at me, saying, “Hey, we’ve got an idea for you. Have some panties!”
> 
> And then they proceeded to hound me for hours, forcing me to literally put pen to paper (because I seem to write better that way) and plot out the following fic instead of working on my WIP. Assbutts.
> 
> I’ve already tagged it, but just in case you missed it and it's a trigger: INCEST AHEAD!! If that’s not your jam, please turn around now. You’ve been warned. Also, bottom Dean for anyone who wants to know prior to reading.
> 
> For those of you still here…Have some panties, y’all!

It’s as Dean’s leaning over to gather up their used dishes that Sam notices the flash of delicate pink above the waistband of Dean’s denim-clad hips. It’s a sign. Dean’s signal that he needs Sam.

Sometimes the color changes, the shade an indicator of Dean’s needs. Black means Dean has gone deep and needs to be broken down and put back together; red signals sexual confidence, but deeper shades can sometimes also be a flag for deep-seated rage; hunter green almost always means he’s feeling good but wants to feel sexed-up levels of good; and patterns...well, don’t get Sam started on patterns. They all indicate the different types of play that Dean enjoys.

But tonight, the panties are a pink so pale that it’s a hair’s-breadth away from white. Dean needs to feel pure.

Sam watches attentively as Dean carries their dirty plates into the kitchen, listens as the water rushes into the sink. He stands slowly from his chair, pushes it in with deliberation, and moves with measured steps to follow his brother into his personal domain.

Dean’s stance at the sink is telling him everything he needs to know: stiff posture, controlled movements, visible tension in his neck and shoulders.

Inhaling deeply, Sam stands straighter and relaxes his muscles. He approaches Dean and lays his palm at the small of his back. He firmly trails it up the length of Dean’s spine and grips him at the juncture where his shoulder and neck meet.

Leaning over to turn off the water, Sam lines his body up against his brother’s. He feels the moment Dean gives, the miniscule slouch back into Sam’s chest. It’s small, the barest hint of release, but it’s enough.

Sam steps back, not letting Dean go, and guides him through the bunker and down the hall leading to their bedrooms.

The bedrooms have become just as indicative of Dean’s mental state as the panties; each symbolizing levels of control, desire, and emotional health. They’ve used so many of them that it makes it somewhat awkward when they have the occasional guest. Do they put them in the purple room where Sam spent hours worshipping his brother’s body? Or the grey room where Dean fell to his knees and waited for Sam to break him? They certainly can’t use the black room. That’s solely for when Dean is at his limit and needs Sam to wrest all control from him and go deeper than either of them are usually comfortable with.

The colors aren’t actually there in the rooms, but the memories of what has happened in them linger like they’re being viewed through tinted glasses.

Dean starts to move to his own room, but Sam gently halts his progress and guides him to a new room, one they’ve never used.

Inside, the air is slightly chilled and smells of peach blossoms. All of the walls have been painted a pale cream instead of their normal cinderblock grey. The furniture is distressed white with hints of light-colored wood peeking through. The linens covering the bed are 100% cotton in the lightest shade of gray Sam could find and feel like a dream under his skin.

The room is sparsely furnished, but every piece was personally picked by Sam. He had sanded the woodwork, painted the walls, painstakingly sought out the perfect mattress, sheets, pillows, and comforter. All in preparation for the days when Dean needs something clean and calm.

He draws Dean into his arms, back-to-chest, as he takes in this new environment. The tension draining from Dean’s body is palpable. Sam can feel him relaxing incrementally until his muscles are lax, letting Sam take more of his weight.

He kisses Dean briefly behind the bolt of his jaw, right under his earlobe, then works on removing Dean’s clothing. The process is slow and methodical, stripping away one article at a time, gently caressing each inch of exposed skin.

When Dean is down to just the blush pink underwear, Sam takes his hand and leads him to the bed. He folds back the comforter and top sheet, then turns and gestures for Dean to lay down. Dean lays on his back and stares up at Sam, who smiles kindly and nudges Dean to roll over onto his stomach.

Dean’s body is a landscape of lightly-defined muscles, bony hills, and silvery scars. Sam has spent hours just exploring all of the dips and valleys, the textures of his brother’s body – just for the sake of sheer enjoyment. But that’s not what Dean needs right now.

Tonight is all about showing Dean how loved he is, how beautiful he is in his abandonment. How much Sam values him on every level.

Stepping up to the side of the bed, Sam sits on the edge and cards his fingers through the shorter hair at the nape of Dean’s neck. He trails his fingertips over Dean’s back, randomly thumbing a scar here, the knob of a vertebrae there, eliciting shivers with each brush of skin. He moves on to the softer flesh at Dean’s hips and adds a bit of pressure, watching the give of Dean’s body beneath his light grip, the white impressions lasting only moments before the skin returns to its normal tan.

He dips the tip of his ring finger under the elastic at the small of Dean’s waist. Silk. It’s soft and delicate, but not as much so as Dean in this moment.

Framing Dean’s spine with his thumbs, Sam fans his fingers to Dean’s sides and pulls up softly on his hips.

“On your knees, sweetheart.”

Dean’s movements are sluggish, as Sam crawls onto the bed behind him. He drapes himself over his brother’s back, lightly rubbing his lips over Dean’s shoulder, up his neck, to his lightly-stubbled cheek. He kisses him there, then guides his head to the pillow below.

Dean takes it as the cue it is and relaxes his upper body, arms resting under his head on the pillow. It leaves his back arched at an angle that Sam finds mouthwatering. He moves back for a moment to admire the picture Dean makes, then trails his hand over the silk covering Dean’s ass.

Crawling back to give himself room, he spreads Dean’s legs a bit wider apart. The silk molds beautifully to Dean’s hips and butt. Sam bends down and kisses the dip of Dean’s back just above the elastic waistband, then does the same to each cheek.

He runs his nose down the crease between Dean’s glutes and sighs open-mouthed into the fabric covering his hole, causing Dean to spasm. Sam’s thumbs dig into the flesh under the leg holes of Dean’s panties and slip underneath to spread his brother’s cheeks for better access to Sam’s goal.

The first lick is long and wet, dampening the silk still shielding Dean’s hole. The next is firmer, and the slight tremor of Dean’s thighs is all the signal Sam needs to proceed.

He tongues at the silk-covered flesh, alternating between long sure strokes with the flat of his tongue, circling licks with the tip, and gentle probes, loosening Dean’s resolve as the sounds of his pleasure build. The muffled groans and whimpers coming from Dean’s pillow are music to Sam’s ears.

Sam reaches between Dean’s legs and runs his fingers up the length of his cock. It’s straining against the silk, the head curved to the side and drenching the front of the panties. Sam continues stroking him as he eats his brother’s ass.

When the silk is soaked through, Sam stops with his ministrations and hooks his fingers under the elastic waist of the panties and peels them down. He’s forced to stop with them stretched tight over Dean’s thighs. Sam repositions himself so he can regrettably close Dean’s legs enough to remove the silky underwear completely. It’s ruined, various body fluids staining both sides, but Sam will buy him more.

Tossing the pink silk to the side, Sam moves Dean back to pose as he was before. He’s still damp from Sam’s saliva, but Sam reaches over to the nightstand and pulls a bottle out of the top drawer. He lubes up his fingers and circles Dean’s rim, applying pressure to the skin. His hole gives little resistance, letting Sam know that Dean was aware enough beforehand to know what he needed and prep accordingly.

Sam slides one finger in slowly, then adds a second when he feels how slick Dean is already. He scissors them, spreading Dean open further, while brushing his thumb over the sensitive nerve endings just under the skin of Dean’s rim and stroking the thin, smooth skin beneath Dean’s balls. When he feels Dean loosen more, he inserts a third finger and rubs firmly over Dean’s prostate just to hear that sharp intake of breath he loves so much.

After several minutes of fingering Dean open, minutes full of strained sighs and sobs, Sam pulls out. Dean slumps further onto the bed and moans at the loss of Sam inside him. Climbing over the edge, Sam disrobes while Dean watches.

“Sammy…” Dean’s eyes are glazed over, lids drooping, but he still takes time to salivate over the skin being revealed and makes little noises of appreciation.

Fully nude, Sam climbs back onto the bed and gets to his knees behind Dean. He doesn’t bother with a condom; all that’s ever been between them is their history and love.

Adding a bit more lube to his fingers, Sam strokes his cock to full hardness and presses the head to his brother’s rim. He inches his way inside and waits for Dean’s muscles to relax and give him room to move.

“You’re so good, Dean.” He strokes along Dean’s hip, runs his other hand up his spine to his shoulder. Grasping both firmly, he pulls out of Dean until just the tip of his cock remains inside, then slowly slams home.

Dean gasps underneath him, and it makes Sam’s dick swell. “That’s it, sweetheart. Give it up.”

Dean shudders, and Sam pulls him up onto his hands and knees. He pulls out and slides back in, rolling his hips with his thrust. The motion causes Dean to buck under him, so he continues it.

“You’re so good, Dean.” Thrust. “I love you so much.” Thrust. “I love the way you let go for me,” thrust, “give me control.”

Dean’s groans and gasps are a symphony playing in Sam’s ears. “Sing for me, baby.” A roll of the hips. “So strong, to let go like this. So beautiful, trusting me to break you down. So fucking gorgeous, Dean.” Thrust. Thrust. Thrust.

More melodic moaning. “I’m so in love with you, Dean, with everything you are. Your heart, your soul, your spirit. You’re everything I’ve ever wanted. You honor me with your trust.”

“Sammy!” The hum of strings across his senses.

“Come for me, Dean. Want to feel you come on just my cock.” Sam pistons his hips faster, driving deeper, hitting Dean’s prostate with every stroke.

Dean’s speech, previously consisting of just Sam’s name, becomes a crescendo of incoherent wailing as he falls apart while Sam pumps inside him. The sound of Dean’s stilted cries is all the song Sam needs to reach his own climax, burying himself as deep in Dean’s body as he can get and spilling his answering harmony into air now redolent with the scent of sex.

They both collapse to the bed, panting with exertion, sweat beading on their skin. Sam pulls the sheet over them and spoons Dean while he comes down and glances around the room.

He envisions the walls papered in sheet music, the dresser covered with different types of music players; a bookcase full of records, cassette tapes, CDs. Dean singing underneath him to Vivaldi, Tool, Nina Simone, Johnny Cash. He has plans for this room now, and the neurons are firing at full force.

Being careful not to jostle Dean, Sam grabs the baby wipes out of the nightstand and cleans up his junk before moving on to his brother. He gingerly removes the traces of come from Dean’s backside and is dipping around the front to wipe up his prick when Dean snuffles out of his brief slumber. It’s adorable, but he’ll never tell Dean that.

“Feeling better?”

Dean rolls over, pulls Sam back down onto his back, and then cuddles into his side. His response is a muffled “No chick flick moments, bitch” followed by a light snore.

Snickering, Sam noses into Dean’s mussed hair and whispers, “Glad to hear it, jerk.”

Nothing else needs to be said. The words don’t matter. They speak without them, and all that’s left is rest.

**Author's Note:**

> If you're reading this, thanks. If you liked it, please drop me a kudos or comment. I'm a fledgling author, starving for feedback. ;) And, please let me know if you find any typos or grammatical errors.
> 
> Stay awesome, fam! <3


End file.
